


Toffee Apples

by okapi



Series: Spooky & Kooky (the Halloween fics) [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Apples, Autumn, Community: watsons_woes, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Retirement, Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Holmes & Watson in the Sussex kitchen. Retirementlock domestic fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Яблоки в карамели](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879176) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> For the LJ Watson's Woes October 2016 prompt: treats.

“I suppose it’s inevitable,” said Holmes as he stomped his feet and unwound the scarf from his neck.

“What is?” I queried, without looking up.

“As we decline, we regress.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” I shut my book and set it aside. Then I carefully placed my spectacles atop the worn cover. “I’m aging like a Montrachet.”

“And just as beloved,” he replied with a kiss to the top of my head. “I mean that as you and I have elected to spend our autumn years here, far from the bustling metropolis and all its civilized modernity, we must accept, at minimum, a few steps backwards on the path of progress, for example, a return to the primitive exchange of goods and services upon which our Neolithic forbearers relied.”

“Ah. The apples?”

“The apples.”

He hung up his coat.

“Not bad, as currency goes. I feared that he would compensate you for your superior ovine location services with a portion of the recovered flock. Mutton stew.” I wrinkled my nose. “What’s more, you like apples. And his in particular.”

“But the sheer quantity, my dear man,” said Holmes, taking his place in the armchair opposite mine. He rubbed his hands before the fire.

“True. But there are many ways to use—and preserve—your bounteous recompense. I have something in mind for this evening.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A clue?”

“An autumn treat, I’ll say no more.”

“Well,” he said, rising to his feet and closing the distance between us. “If you insist on treating me, I have no choice but to balance the ledger.”

“I quite like this barter system,” I whispered just before he covered my lips with his own.

* * *

“Ah,” he said. “This is a treat. Toffee apples.”

“Holmes!”

“I fear the dowels gave it away, my dear man.”

“I suppose you’re right. I am going to make some extra for the neighbours’ children.”

He hummed and slipped his arms around my waist.

“Holmes, this is a delicate process,” I warned, tilting the saucepan.

“So’s this,” he said, kissing my neck. “I am accustomed to manipulating fragile philosophical instruments with care. Or does your memory fail you? I shall refresh it.”

I smiled. “My memory is fine, when it isn’t distracted by your ministrations. Now, let’s see. Vinegar and your exceptional honey.”

“Brilliant,” he replied. “A sweeter coating cannot be found for lips and fingers and _pommes_.” He scraped his teeth along the skin of my nape. “And I do so like a nibble.”

“Holmes!”

“And a bite,” he added, punctuating word with demonstration.

“I’m not supposed to stir.”

“Pity,” he murmured; the puff of warm breath tickled.

“And it’s supposed to warm to precisely one hundred forty-nine degrees, which I shall test by,” I let a few drops of the syrup fall into a mug of cold water. “No, not quite brittle strands. A few minutes more.”

I turned in his arms and kissed his lips.

He pulled away and his eyes searched my face. “Any regrets, Watson?”

“None. You?”

“No.” He glanced ‘round the kitchen. “The harvest is abundant when it is shared with the one you love.”

“You are becoming quite the poet in your autumn years,” I teased.

“Maybe it’s the apples. Check, if I am not mistaken…”

“Oh!” I cried and whipped around to face the stove. “Yes, now, into the water to prevent overheating and, one by one, if you will be kind enough to assist me.”

“Here,” said Holmes, extending the first of the crimson-and-gold orbs.

Soon, apples were lined up on a sheet of brown waxed paper, a dozen shining and standing tall like toy soldiers.

“Shall we taste the first fruit of our labour?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

Holmes lifted one by its doweled stem.

“Here’s to autumn,” I said as I leaned close.

“And old-fashioned ways,” Holmes added. “And rewards.”

“And us?”

“And us.”

_Crunch! Crunch!_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
